


Di Fuoco e Fiamme

by Puolukka



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Historical References, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2802530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puolukka/pseuds/Puolukka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“A standing army makes a country powerful.” This has always been the basis of Gilbert Beilschmidt's creed, but the sudden encounter with Lovino Vargas, a fiery vassal state, may question his unabated belief.</p><p>For the <i>Prumano Secret Santa</i> gift exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Di Fuoco e Fiamme

**Author's Note:**

  * For [creativeone298](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=creativeone298).



> Written for the _Prumano Secret Santa event_ promoted by [vampirenaomi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireNaomi) and based on the prompt “getting lost together”.
> 
> I splitted up the human and country names to make the plot more clear, thence the country name refers to the “Nation” while the human one is used to call out the country embodiment.

_Vienna, spring 1734_

  
  
The sun is kissing the still wet grass. Tiny pearls of water caress the shaggy leaves, racing in slow semi-circles until wobbling and shattering under the thunderous passage of the carriages, dragged down the pebbly path leading to the Hofburg Palace. The hot sunlight flickers to a young form in silvery cape and unruly blond air, bearing himself like a wild lion: Gilbert Beilschmidt stands tall and proud on the Austrian soil as the guest of the Imperial House of Habsburg.  
  
He walks down the refined hallways and greets the royal family with lithesome movements of the limbs. "It is my greatest pleasure being hosted by their majesties, Monarchs of Austria and Royals of the Habsburg House." he says with the most amiable smile.  
  
An elegant and defiant figure makes his entrance soon after. Carrying himself as the true personality of the room Roderick Edelstein bows with stunning grace and willingly dismisses their guest with an irritating defiance that prompts Gilbert into taking a stand.  
  
"Why, the great Edelstein honour us with his ineffable attendance." he jeers while walking towards the newcomer; Roderick keeps his nonplussed expression, but flinches slightly seeing him approaching.  
  
Before a squabble can upraise in the Palace's courtroom, King Charles cuts them off. "Mr. Beilschmidt I hope the voyage was comfortable enough. It is quite a pity Lord Frederick could not attend, but I heard that he has gotten a very powerful army under is control."  
  
Gilbert Beilschmidt immediately perks up, always available for putting in a good word about his beloved King, Frederick William. "Yes, your highness, the voyage went smoothly. Indeed, my King offers his utmost apologises for not being able to attend; several hindrances hold him down, nevertheless he extends his most cordial respects to their royal majesties."  
  
King Charles nods in understanding and calls out the servants who take Beilschmidt's belongings to the guestroom. "I see, it must be a hard time. We live in a harsh and blood-thirsty period and thereby we ought to find the strength to carry on with the help of our closest neighbours."  
  
His words are filled with outstanding cynicism; nonetheless Gilbert agrees with affable attitude concealing his wary frown.  
  
“But let's not spoil the moment.” says his majesty. “We're celebrating for the attendance of our dear guest, Mr. Beilschmidt. Get everything ready for tonight: we are giving a banquet!” he announces, then turns to his vassals and demands his horse to be saddled for the upcoming activity.  
  
The entire court is called upon to take part to the hunting: Charles of Habsburg leads the way on his majestic stallion, a gift from the Dutch royal family, whereas Gilbert Beilschmidt is trotting close to the King who requested specifically for him to ride at his side. Even the Queen and her dames attend the hunting trip, watching from the sidelines and cheering and rejoicing each time a deer or a rabbit is shot down.  
  
Among the last rows, following with remarkable indifference on a white mare, Roderick Edelstein is absorbed in a reverie; his blank look pointing ahead, into the unknown. Now and then, the countenance would shift to a more acquiescent smile when a courtier would address him or one of the ladies would spur him into tattling – curiously, he's a renowned talebearer among the court.  
  
With an abrupt jerk, Gilbert slows his horse down and joins the quiet and pretentious Edelstein in his refined slow trotting.  
  
"Are you afraid they could win against you?" asks Beilschmidt in a mocking sneer.  
  
Edelstein doesn't even look at him. "I have no fear to be clashed by those low-minded, Christian staunches."  
  
"Surely, but France already gained the Lorraine and now is breaking into Lombardy's northern borders with the help of the Duchy of Savoy which opened the territory for their army." spurs Beilschmidt. "Not to mention Spain's offensive in the South... Is he really worthy all of these?"  
  
Turning towards the other with a skeptical frown, Roderick takes his time rooming Gilbert until retrieving to his previous peaceful guise. "I was completely unaware of your concern regarding my welfare."  
  
"I am not," replies Gilbert at once. "However, I would be delighted to witness for one the great sight of your self-confidence and pride shattering down as soon as this farce is over."  
  
"Farce, what farce? We are dealing with the future of the Polish throne here, but sadly there are people who do not agree on supporting our candidate."  
  
"Yes, and I am the Emperor of Costantinopoli. Spare me this pretending that the war is for Poland's succession sake, Edelstein. We both know this is no more a war for the Polish throne; this is a war for Europe's suzerainty."  
  
At that, Roderick dryly meets Gilbert's eyes in a challenging spark. Beilschmidt knows that Austria is bared in the southern and western borderlines: after both Britain and the Dutch Republic refused to take part to the war the military force of their faction has been drastically reduced, and a halved army means a halved possibility of victory.  
  
Before either of them can speak up, a particular loud chanting revert their attention to the ongoing events: the court is cherishing the last prey captured by the King as each lord compliments his extraordinary ability and skills.  
  
In the bubble of ovation and acclamation, the marred figure of a pheasant in blood is being regally showed off as the most valued prize.  
  
Amused, Gilbert watches with mirthful delighting. "This is the true nature of human beings, don't you think?"  
  
Shifting his dark spectacled eyes on a more interesting scenery, Edelstein chuckles lightly as he resume his previous discreet stance.  
  
"Indeed." he murmurs.

* * *

  
Thus far Gilbert Beilschmidt has been indulging in common activities with the court in order to gain the desired trust and faith. It hasn't been a difficult task mingling with the Austrian personalities as Gilbert has an affable attitude and pleasant manners, or at least in regard of courtship activities.  
  
His loyal and reverence granted him the title of most trustworthy man of the nobility. However his short temper and the relying on the brute force combained with his respected and feared position as Prussian soldier do hinder this new reputation. It is a well-known fact that Frederick William's greatness dwells in his imposing and trained army; the sole tool of a growing Kingdom.  
  
Their majesties, Charles VI of Habsburg and his consort Elisabeth Christine are engrossed in government matters with Spanish and French delegates, thereby Roderick has taken over the political tasks.  
  
The concepts of good mannerism and the cult of the esteem whereon the Court has been built throughout the centuries are completely destabilized when Roderick Edelstein summons one of his most craved domain: Lovino Vargas. A young man on the outside: darkish features typical of the southern regions and a fierce attitude which speaks volumes of his persona.  
  
He makes his way through the Hallway in regular, firm steps and gives compelled respects as greetings.  
  
"Another riot arose in the city square, Mr. Vargas. Naples does really cause a lot of trouble nowadays and I must demand you check down your citizens, so eager to rebel against our righteous supremacy." reproaches Edelstein, taking for granted that his instructions would be followed forthwith.  
  
The soft features of Lovino Vargas turns severe, clenching slightly his hands. "I may not be able to ensure this request for I have no decision-making power over my people. Thereby my intervention may result in a fail attempt to hold down a righteous expression of distress from a domain, my Lord."  
  
The clear sarcasm lingering in the tone doesn't go unnoticed by both witnesses; the bafflement and amusement in Beilschmidt compete with Edelstein's austere and grim expression.  
  
Gilbert snickers at the sight of the Austrian being disregarded by one of his territories, not many are so bold to willingly provoke him.  
  
Thus rises Edelstein and so his tone, vibrating in the courtroom like an approaching thunderstorm. "I shall remind you and your citizens that you are under my authority, subjected by the same laws. Therefore each one of you must support the Kingdom."  
  
Casting his eyes down Lovino nods reluctantly; his stiffen stance clearly shows the huge strife he's going through, nevertheless not a word is uttered and the sparkling light is still there, ready to challenge whoever gets in the way.  
  
"Yes, sir." he mumbles. "Anyhow I won't do anything whatsoever to stop my citizens as I ought respect and encourage their will."  
  
"So without further ado, I take my leaves, my Lord." he hasty says and walks off not even indulging in a response from his superior. The steps echo in the grand hall, increasing the dull noises ten, hundred and thousand times more until fading gradually away.  
  
A renowned interest for the man builds up in Beilschmidt: the boldness of the Italian man charms him to the point he stands up Roderick in order to pursue him. Edelstein doesn't share the same spark, seeing as the irreverence of the other has been a troublesome tool against him.  
  
In the sour mood hovering in the courtroom the handsome figure of Roderick, clad in expansive garments thread in gold strings, keeps his quiet stance as one by one, each task comes undone. Many inhabitants has been complaining over the enhancement of the price and the huge taxation committed over the already heavely taxed population.  
  
The expenses of the war affect directly both the treasure chest and the people; the national incoming ought to be steady in order to ensure the standing of the army and avoiding for as much as possible the bankrupt. The Italian possessions, specially, are being hugely drained from it, rising a climate of opposition towards Austria's oppression and reclaiming the once Spanish domain.  
  
Edelstein's foul state recovers as King Charles returns and thanks him for the diligence which employed in the wearing work. Nodding and rejoicing in the complimenting, he returns to his rooms not before checking the wherefore of his obnoxious guest.  
  
Long the cold and equally lush hallway decorated with red and white tapestries carrying the Habsburg's emblem, Gilbert Beilschmidt has been harassing Lovino Vargas with pointless and distressing questions over subjects that caused more upsetting reactions than violent ones. ("You should totally take my sword lessons, I could make a fencer out of you. Well, we should work out that thin body of yours, but nothing is impossible with me as your master.")  
  
The boisterous laughter of the Prussian echoes aloud as he takes for granted anything his pompous mouth releases. It's outstanding clear from the Italian's rigid posture that the other's nagging presence isn't enjoyed whatsoever.  
  
Gilbert Beilschmidt is the type keen on spitting judgements and standing up for his beliefs like one of the ministers in the Congress; he fights tooth and nail when his principles are being opposed. Hence instilling his opinions onto the Vargas is considered one of those duties befitting a preacher like him.  
  
"Would you please shut up! I don't need your stupid instructions in fencing for I am quite capable myself to stick a fucking sword in your ass!" with that Lovino Vargas successfully wins the verbal battle, leaving Gilbert baffled and without a chance to rebuke as the Italian sprints ahead, detaching from Beilschmidt and effectively ending any further discussion.  
  
At the other end of the hallway a svelte and charming young man is engrossed in a chat with one of the servants; worry and apprehension leaking from his demeanor. The man notices Lovino Vargas approaching in long strides and quickly dismisses the vassal as he breaks forward as well.  
  
"Brother!" calls out the young man.  
  
"Feliciano," says Lovino embracing him in a very formal greeting. "What are you doing here? I thought I told you to go back to your rooms."  
  
The other Vargas apologies quickly, claiming he couldn't really stay still; too scared for the calling to keep quiet.  
  
"Nothing you have to worry about, Feliciano." assures Lovino and heads towards an adjacent hallway - his brother following close to him as they mutter in a Romance idiom, likely Italian, before disappearing completely from Beilschmidt's visual field.

* * *

  
A wide meadow of wild bushes figuring majestic forms and mazes of roses and violets faces the royal palace whereas a natural barrier of woods and hills surrounds and protects the vast propriety. The green colonnade meets in a quaint and entwined gate, the only access to the park.  
  
But the truly beauty of the garden is the renowned fountain; a beauty that few are able to witness or own. Lovino Vargas is one of these lucky gentlemen that can worship this masterpiece as well as twiddling around the luxuriant Eden when the day is enjoyable enough.  
  
In the pale sunlight of a warm afternoon, Lovino is walking through the park in company of his brother.  
  
Despite the quiet picture, the situation in the peninsula is at the edge. The Spanish involvement in the Thirty Years War elicited a crisis in the 17th century: as Spain declined so did its Italian possession which already suffered from economic strife. Consequently commoners riots broke out in the cities, spreading even in the countryside. The population sought out for French protection and fought against Italian Lords and Spain.  
  
Anyhow, the pattern changed after the battle for the Spanish throne as the Kingdom of Naples welcomed the arrive of the Austrian army, hoping in a much desired autonomy that never came.  
  
The older Vargas admires the beautiful floral compositions whereas Feliciano describes happily his previous activities so meticulously that Lovino manages to revive them in his own imagination. "Oh, I saw another of Metastasio's works yesterday! His plays are so wonderful that even the Austrian court can't help but love them!"  
  
Nodding in compliant, Lovino Vargas gives in his brother's enthusiasm. The spontaneity in which the younger can turn even the worst plight into an engaging adventure amuses and baffles him. Ever since the beginning both of them have been avoiding a real contact, but the current events draw the two siblings together and have a chance to benefit from each other's company.  
  
Notwithstanding the similar features they share, the Vargas brothers aren't very acquainted to each other due to cultural and economic differences among the various territories of the peninsula. Furthermore the combined domination of several populations throughout the centuries strengthen the gap and successfully drew a deep fracture between the two.  
  
"I dare say Mr. Beilschmidt is very much interested in you, Lovi. Did you bewitch him, perchance?" enquires suddenly Feliciano.  
  
Lovino grimaces, evidently displeased at the mention of his major nuisance.  
  
The Austrian guest has been indeed chivvying the older Vargas for quite a while now. The frequent quarrels between the two and the annoying persistence of Gilbert Beilschmidt in foisting lectures over silly matters have been a common occurrence, particularly troublesome for the court's quiet as well.  
  
The curious fact is that the subjects at hand have been mostly pointless discussion over equally pointless trivia. Once during a dinner they started arguing about the eating etiquette - Beilschmidt kept complaining over the incorrect use of the fork from Lovino's part which immediately retorted that he actually knew how to manage cutlery being the one that imported it in the first place - which ended up spoiling the entire banquette as well as angering the diners.  
  
Anyhow the very epitome of impudence is Beilschmidt's patronizing attitude.  
  
The way the Prussian acts is akin to an instructor teaching the very basis of living in the modern society to a pupil, a very stupid pupil at that since Beilschmidt treats him like an incapable of holding even a simple tool. What sorts of mentality has that Gilbert? Is he trying to mock him in front of the Austrian court with his dicey tricks?  
  
Being only an object in the hand of Roderick Edelstein, the older Vargas must behold a diligent guise and fulfill the perverse games of his guest. Moreover he has no intention to give in to the other's arrogance, it would be humiliating for his already upset pride.  
  
Unnerving.  
  
Unnerving the vexation he has to endure in this foreign court, so faraway from his homeland.  
  
"I would rather avoid talking about that half-wit. I do not appreciate his pesky ministrations and I want him far away from me." snarls Lovino, grinding his teeth at the reminder of that pig-headed Prussian.  
  
On the other hand, Feliciano is quite amused by the current situation. It's not as much common seeing Lovino so worked up by someone in particular - albeit he has a penchant to complain about anything and anyone. Gilbert Beilschmidt has literally engaged the older Vargas thoughts.  
  
They end up in a remote zone hovered by thousands of handmade bushes that resemble a large wall forewent by a snow-white fence tracing the very beginning of the green labyrinth. Both Vargas silently enter the maze, wandering for a while in mutely peace before a peculiar huge bush hide them from indiscreet eyes.  
  
“The Spanish infante, Don Carlos, is leading 40,000 soldiers across the Peninsula in order to regain the Kingdom of Naples.” says Lovino in an ushered and calm tone, only glancing briefly at his left in order to catch his brother's reaction.  
  
The younger Vargas, incredulous, mutters. “Are you going to welcome Spain's army? Nothing will change in the end, Lovi. You will still be under someone's control.”  
  
“It is indeed true,” agrees him. “However my people are raising against the Austrian King. They do not welcome the huge taxation, even the Lords are joining. They want to return to the Spanish domain.”  
  
"But, Lovi-"  
  
Feliciano's voiced distress is interrupted by a familiar laughter that, bouncing among the green twigs, reaches the two siblings in a pompous and awful screech. Even before telling, Lovino knows that his restful afternoon is going to be crashed by the Prussian's woeful haughtiness.  
  
From the sharp corners of the natural labyrinth pops out the boastful form of Gilbert Beilschmidt, mindlessly talking with a short figure in theirs early forties and dressed in flamboyant garments. The loud voice of the former suggests that the subject of their discussion isn't as private as it would be intended.  
  
Lovino Vargas tenses up immediately, shifting his eyes towards more interesting landscapes, such as the pretty elms in the far area of the park, in a trivial pretending to be unnoticed. Unfortunately the Prussian isn't much subtle and approaches them while barking something about the coincidence of the moment.  
  
"Good evening, young men, what a fortunate timing! I wanted to introduce you to a member of one of the most important Austrian noble families and also a dear friend of mine. The Prince of Dietrichstein, Karl Maximilian!"  
  
The man hidden behind Gilbert Beilschmidt steps ahead and greets the Vargas brothers with a short nod followed by a delicate 'My pleasure'.  
  
"My dear Maximilian, those two are the representative of the Italian peninsula: Lovino and Feliciano Vargas."  
  
The two siblings bow and bid their respects with a natural synchrony that leaves the Prince quite mesmerized; their movements are so coordinated they seem one soul restrained in two vessels.  
  
Gilbert grins satisfied, knowing the bewitched effect the Vargas leave on the eye of the interlocutor. "Those two handsome men are under my safe wing. It is a duty of mine to protect them!"  
  
Twiching, Lovino makes a low noise similar to a rabid snarl that immediately alarms Feliciano of the growing rage of the other. He tries to grip his brother's shoulder to soften the tense guise while encouraging him to not take it too much seriously.  
  
But it's too late.  
  
"We are not your protectorates, Beilschmidt." snarls Lovino unleashing his fury that gradually increase with his timbre.  
  
On the other hand, Gilbert's obliviousness leaves him unaware of the violent mood's downfall while replying in a casual and detached barking. "But I ought to take care of you."  
  
"We are not your damned protectorates and we certainly do not need your selfish caring."  
  
"I see we are quite sheepish here. You should not be embarrassed to have me looking after you. I willingly do it for my beloved henchmen!"  
  
At that the older Vargas wriggles out the steel grip of his brother who has been trying to keep him still all the while as the Prussian's impertinence successfully breaks all the restraints that hold Lovino from punching him right on that haughty face. "Get the fuck over with this shit, Beilschmidt: we are not fucking weaklings who need your dumbshit protection! We can manage flawlessly without your damned help or advice since we have been on this Earth for quite a lot of time to know how to handle our shit!"  
  
He takes a long breathe and manages a final 'Fucking prick', before storming off in the opposite direction.  
  
Feliciano is the first to react, calling Lovino with an uncommon fidgety which startles the two men still stunned from the harsh outburst. In spite of the rude treatment Gilbert, undefeated, frowns in annoyance and sets off in automatic, mentally tracing the other's likely course and leaving the Prince at the caring ministrations of the younger Vargas.  
  
More out of politeness than real interest, Prince Maximilian, still pretty dismayed, inquiries offhandedly. "Did something happened between the two?"  
  
With a deterred sigh, Feliciano turns away and manages a brief 'I suppose so'. He doesn't really register what the noble man is saying afterwards as his thoughts can only merge towards the why and wherefore of his brother. He resumes his natural vigour, knowing someone, the very one who caused all that, is taking care of the matter and reminding himself that no involvement is needed inasmuch as they have to work it out by themselves. When Prince Maximilian gives off disgruntlement signs, Feliciano happily provides his courteous favours leading him back to the Palace.  
  
They reach their destination after entertain themselves in a slow and mostly silent walk. In front of the main entrance there's an harbinger to attend them who bows promptly in the presence of the two figures and claims to deliver a message from the southern Italian possessions. Feliciano doesn't waste time, snatching off the letter from the messenger's shaking hands and reading its contents.  
  
Seeing no reaction from the young man, the Austrian prince asks with an anxious tone. "What does it say?"  
  
But it doesn't receive a response because the moment he utters the question, Feliciano drops the sheet and runs back; his only concern finding Lovino as soon as possible.

* * *

  
Beilschmidt squeaks as the light flirting through the flourishing branches turns into shades of dark made of woods and foliage. The duo creeps further deep into the shrubbery, thus losing track of time and space as Gilbert keeps casting profanities towards Lovino when said man suddenly stops.  
  
"What he hell are you doing!?" spits out Beilschmidt finally keeping up with the current scrunching from of Lovino. Turning his head, the older Vargas clicks his tongue while barely breathing in sporadic intervals in order to conceal the lack of air.  
  
"Why did you run away like that!?" he adds.  
  
No response.  
  
"Are you out of your mind? Spitting out such idiocy like a madman!?"  
  
At that Lovino Vargas sends him a fierce stare followed by an equally harsh remark. "Idiocy? You're the one spitting idiocy, Beilschmidt. You damn war-freak, close-minded fool whose only purpose is kicking the shit out of everybody, Roderick included."  
  
Taken aback, Beilschmidt manages a low growl and, temporarily blinded by his hurt ego and growing wrath, he snarls. "This is quite reach coming from a perennial puppet state. You sure as hell have guts to provoke me!"  
  
The growling noises are amplified in the closed system of wild flora; the quiet atmosphere falls under the heavy tension cast by the two parties. As if the forest's life has suddenly died down, neither a creeping sound nor a screeching verse can be heard, but the rapid reaction of the brunet filters out any likely rumor as he sprints forward and grabs Gilbert's lapel in a brute display of strength and agility.  
  
"Dare say it again, Beilschmidt. I swear to the God above I will cut your throat with my nails if convenient." his threatening tone surprise Beilschmidt who freeze promptly at the sight of Lovino's menacing features. He doesn't consider neither wriggling out nor shoving away the other, mostly due to the uncharacteristic solemnity in which Lovino Vargas has cornered and threatened him with nary a hint of hesitation.  
  
"Look, I am truly aware of my status in this huge scheme of politics developments. I understand my position of my hitherto subjected state and that, as long as I could remember, I always had someone in charge of me. However, this is not my choice. I have never asked to be this clueless."  
  
Gilbert keeps staring at him; steel-like eyes carefully peering through the remorseful bricks embedded in a wall full of chained sentiments, squinting closer in order to catch a glimpse of the reality behind it.  
  
“Spain ended up in an awful state after the war and being one of his domains I went down with him. When the family quarrels began and Austria got me as a trophy I was truly hoping to get a bit of autonomy as much as my cousin Sicily. However it seems neither of us is going to benefit from this new arrangement.”  
  
Of fire and flame his realm; every house, every meadow, every person, each living or non beings are wrapped in a whirlwind of fire and flame and so his own persona, watching that heated show with ineffable determination. His visage holds a security never seen before and the game of lights in his eyes revoke something which roots are far too remote to be reached with the sole recourse of bare hands.  
  
He doesn't wait; he just accepts it. "But willingly or not, I am a vassal state." his tone is like a frozen scale boring slowly in the warm skin, it gives a chilling sensation which tickles Gilbert from toes to neck leaving him so flabbergasted to manage only a weak gasp.  
  
Days, hours, minutes seem to pass in a trice only to stop abruptly right before Beilschmidt. Now the forest mourns the loss of the time, mutely bemoaning with sweet breezes caressing the grieving trees and ruffling the candid locks of his head.  
  
The gentle breath awakes his lost senses along with a new conception that he never knew of.  
  
Acceptance.  
  
Not the kind of acceptance you would pity, knowing full well any opportunity is lost- no, it's the kind of acceptance that summons the self-awareness of someone's limits and accomplishments. Being aware of the borders constraining you are the first step to be able to overtake them.  
  
With a renewed severity, Beilschmidt bellows out. “You are a vassal state, that's true, but you are also a nation made of people speaking a common language, all living together in the same territories. Maybe you still have much to work on, but I am quite hopeful that the time for your accomplishments will eventually come one day.”  
  
It's hard to describe Lovino's thoughts or feelings as he opportunely lowers his head and conceals any hint of emotion underneath disheveled stings of brown hair, but the impact of the words has stirred him for sure.  
  
Albeit the mocking snort isn't what Gilbert Beilschmidt actually expected.  
  
None the amused curls of the lips gracing Lovino's face.  
  
"I am already quite aware of it, Beilschmidt. I know all to well I need more time." he says in a mist of jeering and sincerity. "Anyhow, thank you."  
  
That is, for Gilbert, the first time witnessing a vague form of genuine honesty from the older Vargas who thus far never showed or opened to him his real feelings. Therefore, he deems his own mirthful smile more than justified.  
  
It doesn't last long though, Lovino turns away and says something related to their current position, startling Gilbert's running of thoughts. "We're still within the park propriety. Although I do not know where exactly."  
  
Expectedly, they are lost.  
  
"I knew I should have waited at the Palace." says Beilschmidt with a fake-regretting tone while watching amused the older Vargas getting more and more irritated.  
  
"Well, excuse me. It was not my intention getting us lost in a fucking Austrian bush."  
  
And thus retrieving back to the original quarreling settling in which both are comfortable altogether, being it the very first instance of their past encounters. It's the same battled feeling of returning home after years of absence, back to the annoying, but beloved family's mayhem.  
  
Gilbert snickers at the other's dry look. "So what are we gonna do? Wait for country reinforcement?"  
  
Granted, Lovino is seriously regretting having the misfortune of making the acquaintance with a dumb and loud man like Gilbert Beilschmidt. As so, it's obvious that he ought to take the lead for the Prussian is unable to help them out of there.  
  
"This 'natural fence' is not as huge as it seems. So we should find a way out soon."  
  
"Yes, a way out to the Hell."  
  
"Really funny Gilbert Beilschmidt. Albeit I would love to know which law of retaliation you would be subjected to."  
  
Chuckling, Gilbert brings his hand to the sword's hilt. "I would surely be a superb."  
  
"Without doubt."  
  
They take off, following an imaginary path through the woods. In the meantime Beilschmidt keeps complaining on the lack of orientation from Lovino's part. But the Italian is too engrossed in searching of a familiar sign to get them out. Sometimes his eyes dart upward, in need of light in order to lead them through the black pit of woods.  
  
When they finally reach the border between the wild shrubbery and the tamed meadow, Gilbert Beilschmidt brightens up, now able to watch the sun setting over the horizon. Even Lovino relishes in the pale orange and cobalt blue shades staining the pretty sky.  
  
But the blissful view is disrupted by the arrival of a breathless Feliciano Vargas, running in large strides towards them with a haste that sparkled the interest of the duo. Lovino holds up his brother as soon as he bends forward; his exhausted and trembling form makes the older Vargas too agitated to think straight.  
  
That's when Gilbert joins in, kneeling down to face the younger Italian in order to check his conditions.  
  
"He is alright. Just weary from the long running, I suppose." states Beilschmidt.  
  
Lovino's apprehension wears gradually out, but the rage for the reckless act of his brother takes its place. "What has gotten into you!? If you were in such a hurry you could have waited for me!"  
  
Feliciano, though, dismisses the reprimand and stands up with a bit of an effort; the distraught frown on his smooth features put Lovino in a forthwith alarm. "What happened, Feli?"  
  
With a shaking and equally feeble voice, he stutters. "Don- Don Carlos regained Naples, brother." then mustering a wavering smile he repeats. "The Spanish troop has broken into the city's gates and reconquered it!"  
  
Beilschmidt tenses forthwith, watching the incredulous face of the older Vargas lit up with sheer hope.  
  
"Naples is once again Spain's." whispers him.

* * *

  
_Königsberg, winter 1740-41_

  
  
The snowy landscape stretches wide in the rigid Prussian territories. The grey sky merges with the white of the ground evoking a mystique effect. Thus far, the panorama hasn't changed whatsoever from the moment they resumed the journey at the dawn; the scattered pines and firs are like endless points: the more leave behind the more sprout from the soil and add to those already there.  
  
The stomping rumor of the horses is muffled by the thick coat of snow, making it difficult for the poor animals to keep a steady step as their hooves repeatedly drown in the white blanket and slacken the rhythm.  
  
The hard endeavour eventually pays off, though.

* * *

  
"I would have never bet on it, truthfully."  
  
Turning to his guest, Gilbert Beilschmidt casts him a curious frown. "What?"  
  
"Your King's bold action." replies the other while shifting his slim body to a more comfortable stance. Since his arrival five days ago, Francis Bonnefoy still has to get a proper rest due to the endless bustling of the Castle's servants and soldiers, all engrossed in making preparations for the forthcoming expedition.  
  
"Well yes, I myself didn't expect such a thing from him, but he seems quite unyielding on this decision." A prideful smile curls the Prussian lips. "Not that I mind."  
  
Sighing in defiance, Bonnefoy laughs at the similarity between the Prussian and his King; both unpredictable men with a common distrust for the Austrians. "I believe you're enjoying this new settlement, am I right?"  
  
The mischievous smirk of Beilschmidt is alone a obvious response.  
  
"I enjoy any opportunity to kick that aristocratic ass!" he barks out, already savouring the feeling of his boot on that gaudy Austrian backside. "You should join me, Francis. It would be priceless witness the distraught face of Roderick as soon as he knows what we are planning, Gosh, I cannot wait!"  
  
This new expedition, decided by the newly crowned King, Frederick William II, has the main objective to annexing the neighbour Silesia, one of the richest Habsburg provinces, to the Prussian domains. Furthermore the Hohenzollerns, Frederick's family, detained several principalities in that land; an opportunity to gain more territories and subjects for the Kingdom of Prussia.  
  
"I am not quite sure, my friend." Francis takes a more defensive position. His attendance is mostly a friendly one as France is still stalling over the side to partake regarding the imperial successor and the potential success of this expedition might indulge King Louis XVI to support the war against Austria. "It would be equally profitable for my country to undermine the Habsburg power. However it is not up to me to take this kind of choice."  
  
With flawless movements - notwithstanding the golden armour he wears, Gilbert wraps his arm around Francis' neck; a friendly gesture more akin to a hug he can muster. "Do not worry, Francis. I will beat him up for you as well."  
  
"I believe the death of Charles VI really got to your King, marching towards one of the Habsburg domain only for a whim is a true show of defiance."  
  
"He is only giving free rein to his fever."  
  
With a mocking tone, the French mutters a disbelieving 'He is a madman'.  
  
Releasing the other with a final slap on the shoulder Beilschmidt resumes his task, summoning two soldiers to keep him adjourned on the ongoing situation and report eventual issues with the purveyance. The marching is going to be quite the ordeal for the army, but the Prussian troops are widely known for their experience and strength.  
  
Before Gilbert can take his leave, though, Francis calls out to him. "Wait, Gilbert, I forgot to tell you there is another uninvited guest coming."  
  
But the words die on his lips as two figures burst into the room, muffled from head to tow in heavy coats - ridiculous lawyers of fur, cotton and flannel covered the delicate skins of the newcomers, further protected by gloves, scarves and hats to regulate the body temperature.  
  
“Only you could have thought convenient starting a battle in the midst of the winter, Beilschmidt.”  
  
The voice startles said Prussian, recognizing immediately the disgusted accent that many times rebuked to his own outraging shenanigans.  
  
Fortunately, those hideous garments are removed forthwith as the Palace is deemed warm enough to discard them as far away from Lovino before the shame of wearing such blasphemy in public would truly kill the last bit of dignity he owns.  
  
“Damn you, Antonio. I would rather die of exposure than putting on that lousy bear's skin again!”  
  
At that the tall form of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo appears from the pitch of clothes, flaunting a flashy scarlet coat with gold trimming. He stands nonchalantly beside his fief, Lovino Vargas, dressed in a similar baby-blue attire with matched short cloak.  
  
"I didn't really mind it. In fact, it was soft and warm." the cheerfulness of the Spaniard makes a strong contrast with the stubborn hostility of Lovino, that albeit annoyed by it, doesn't mind all that much the sweet ministrations of the other.  
  
The intimate relationship between them positively irks Gilbert - it took him a long series of altercation and an eventual emotional surge to get Vargas in some kinds of good term, instead the Spaniard with his natural penchant of buoyancy could dissipate the swelling fury in a heartbeat.  
  
This doesn't stop Beilschmidt in greeting the guests with the utmost affability. "Welcome to the Kingdom of Prussia, Mr. Carriedo."  
  
"Likewise, Mr. Beilschmidt! We never get the chance to have a proper introduction before. I believe this is actually the first time we meet in a place that doesn't stink of burn soil and gunpowder."  
  
In the last decades Spain has often supported Prussia's opposite faction. Even though their meetings have been mostly brief and turbulent due to the unpleasant circumstances in which they happened, Gilbert is thoroughly informed about the Spaniard's personality and quality; Antonio Carriedo is known to be particularly strong in the battlefield, in spite of the Spanish downfall after Netherland and Portugal rebellions and the overall drubbing from England's growing power; further strained by the economic expenses of the wars.  
  
"I do believe so, but I hope we can start relaying on each other from now on."  
  
Charmed, Antonio Carriedo smiles brightly, showing his approval.  
  
"Well I suppose you have plenty to discuss about, I shall therefore take my leave." announces the Italian voice who has been watching the friendly exchange with remarked disinterest from the sidelines.  
  
The Prussian's mumbled 'Wait' goes completely unnoticed as Lovino Vargas is too busy in running away in the most discreet way to even minding him in the first place. However the vigilant Frenchman in spite of the whispered sound does catch it before the words can dissipate in the winter air.  
  
"I feel something is off." The obvious escape of the young Italian is in a way connected with Gilbert's sulking mood. This is a matter-of-fact from Francis' point of view. Meanwhile his Spaniard companion, being unable to sense the mood in any way, is wrapped in the naive aura of a newborn. Too enthralled in observing the Prussian tapestry and furnishings, so different from his.  
  
Disguising himself with a formal facade, Gilbert regains the attention of his guests. "What are we waiting for? Let's just start the business!"

* * *

  
Freezing.  
  
The winter envelopes the Prussian province's capital, Königsberg, in a thick cloak of cold snow.  
  
Lovino Vargas has never been a lover of low temperature and the freezing oozing from the nook and cranny of the Palace is pestering him like a children too spoiled to worry about what's surrounding him. The white landscape has been keeping him company for a while now - he likes looking at the green tips piercing the snow as a reminder that the earth's willpower is too strong to be overwhelmed or untangled by a mere weather's breakdown.  
  
"Do you like it?" the older Vargas awakes from his reverie as the strong accent of Beilschmidt echoes in the long hallway.  
  
Lovino eyes him uncertain. "Not much. But it is a nice place wherein spend the day."  
  
The Prussian nods in agreement and takes a place by the window as well, standing beside the small figure of his guest. The window offers a beautiful overlook of the Palace's front as they both watch the living artwork the nature drew before them.  
  
Gilbert keeps the conversation going, but doesn't averts his eyes from the panorama. “You know, long ago in this exact position stood a Sambian fort called Twangste, or Oak Forest.”  
  
“What happened to it?”  
  
“When the Teutonic Knights conquered Sambia the fort was destroyed.” A smiles creeps over him. “But then a new fortress replaced the old one and they named it Conigsberg. The King's Mountain.”  
  
A chuckle escapes Lovino. “I would expect none other from Gilbert Beilschmidt.”  
  
The Prussian smile boardens and he finds the will to utter the question that has been nagging him all this time. “Are you really going to join?”  
  
With a stoic tone Lovino turns to Gilbert's expectant figure and claims. "If Antonio wants to take part to this war, then I will do what I can in order to support him."  
  
At that Beilschmidt fully face the Italian, watching with solemnity his slender and tough body. There's no fear in his posture, nor hesitation. "You truly are made of fire and flame."  
  
The bewilderment in the Italian's face strikes Beilschmidt who realizes too late his impromptu action, but there's no going back. He can't even properly panic for the outburst as Lovino leans boldly towards him and in a swift gesture yanks Gilbert's shoulder downward.  
  
The peck is brief and warm, a curl of the lips, but it's enough to bring a hot sensation all over the Prussian body.  
  
But then it's over and Lovino flinches away with a mirthful smirk welcoming Gilbert's light blush as he stutters incoherent syllables that hold no sense in the slightest.  
  
His babbling is overpowered by Carriedo's thrilling voice, calling for Lovino to hurry up as they have to depart before the down breaks over. From down the hallway, to Gilbert and Lovino's unawareness and chagrin, Bonnefoy and Carriedo have been watching the couple's lovely interaction in mute amusement.  
  
Grinning and cherishing for having diligently frustrate the two love birds - the redness on Gilbert's cheeks becoming more evident whereas Lovino's smirk is replaced by an indignant expression; Francis and Antonio make no sign of moving away.  
  
The prompt intervention of Lovino who pays them no mind, though, startles Gilbert. "Well, then. Until next time, Gilbert."  
  
There's no malice, nor sarcasm in those few words, but the sheer reminder that they can meet each other whenever and wherever - notwithstanding the miles that separate their lands and the chaos wherein Europe's going through right now.  
  
Maybe there's more to them, or it may be just the hope and security of a future encounter on the battlefield.  
  
Anyhow the simply fact of being able to have another chance of meeting with Lovino Vargas brings grand joy in Gilbert's spirit and heart.  
  
"Until next time, Lovino." It may be on better circumstances, hopefully. 

**Author's Note:**

> _Notes and References:_
> 
> In this story South Italy embodies the Kingdom of Naples whereas North Italy is the personification of the Duchy of Milan. I chose those two zones because the Church of Rome controlled most of the peninsula's centre while Venice was quite isolated from the Country's business and the Republic of Florence had fallen during the VI century - the De' Medici dynasty faded in 1737.
> 
> The Hohenzollern's family was primarily Elector of Brandenburg, then King of the Duchy of Prussia. Frederick I was thereby recognized by Emperor Leopold I as [“King in Prussia”](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/King_in_Prussia) for Brandenburg was still an imperial territory.
> 
>  _War of the Spanish Succession (1701-1714)_ : the inheritance of the Spanish throne was contended between the Austrian Emperor Charles VI of Habsburg and the original bequeathed, Philp D'Anjou, grandson of the French King Louis XIV – the latter will eventually gain the title. The former instead got the Spanish colonies overseas, the Spanish Netherlands and North Italy along with the Kingdom of Naples. Later Sicily will be handed over by the Duchy of Savoy in exchange for Sardinia.
> 
> Most known by his pen-name [Pietro Metastasio](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Metastasio) was an Italian poet and playwright that reformed the Italian melodrama.
> 
> The _fork_ was imported in Europe by the Byzantine wife of the Holy Roman emperor Otto II and immediately gained appreciation in Italy from the 11st century onward. It was imported in French by Catherine De' Medici and it became a common Western European cutlery only in the 16th century when the fork entered in the Italian table etiquette.
> 
>  _War of the Polish Succession (1733-1738)_ : It's one of the less known European wars. The conflict started after the death of the former Polish King, Augustus II, that split Europe in two factions. Those loyal to Augustus III (Austria and Russia) and those that recognized the Polish nobleman, Stanislaw as the official King (France and Spain)– he previously ruled Poland for a brief period after being crowned by Sweden. In the end Augustus III was crowned King of Poland and said State was strongly influenced by Russia. Instead Stanislaw received the Duchy of Lorraine, and the former Duke, Francis Stephen became Grand Duchy of Tuscany to compensate. The Kingdom of Naples and Sicily returned to the Spanish crown with the coronation of the new King, Charles of Bourbon, son of Philip V whereas the Duchy of Milan remained under the Austrian control until the Napoleonic Wars.
> 
> The [Dietrichstein](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dietrichstein) was a noble family of Austria and Bohemia. They were elevated to prince with Franz Seraph on 1624.
> 
> Truthfully in the _Divina Commedia_ , both pride and envy don't have an exact collocation in the _Inferno_ as Dante doesn't give them as much weight as the other deadly sins. However they can be found in the _Purgatorio_.
> 
>  _Frederick William II, The Great_ : succeeded his father, Frederick I the Great Elector, on the Prussian throne. He was a loyal staunch of the Enlightment movement with a passion for French literature – he was known for his hatred for war and horse-riding. However, after Charles VI death, [he decided to take Silesia](http://www.historyworld.net/wrldhis/plaintexthistories.asp?historyid=ac75#1655) as his reward for the support he planned to give Maria Theresa and her husband, Francis, as the new Holy Roman Emperor. On December 21st, 1740 the Prussian troop marched and conquered Silesia.
> 
> France took advantage of [Prussia's invasion of the Habsburg's province](http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/44477/War-of-the-Austrian-Succession) to form an alliance with Spain and Bavaria and successively with Saxony and Prussia. Frederick accepted wholeheartedly the new ally and swore to vote for Charles Albert of Bavaria as the next Holy Roman Emperor. 
> 
> The _Sambians_ were a Prussian tribe that lived near a coast territory, north of [Königsberg](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K%C3%B6nigsberg)'s city. They were conquered by the Teutonic Knights and became extinct during the 17th century. The Konigsberg fortress was named in honour of King Ottokar II of Bohemia who paid for the expenses of the fortress' erection.


End file.
